This article was commissioned by the Calgary Folk Music Festival, for their 2010 program book.
To accompany this article, I also created sidebars referencing artists appearing at the 2010 festival, internet links, a streaming playlist of cover versions of songs and original illustrations.
Cover Me
What comes to mind when you think of the songs that light up your life? We all have them - the songs that captured a feeling so perfectly that every time you hear them you feel like kicking ass or kicking back.
What songs remind you most of where you come from, or that perfect summer when you fell in love? What's the song that always reminds you that everything's going to be alright?
Now imagine that you'll never hear that song again.
Sure, you can always press Play but we all know the difference between the live and the Memorex is as big as all outdoors, or we wouldn't be here this weekend. Songs are meant to be sung, and when they're not, they fade and eventually disappear.
Why talk about this here, at a folk festival of all places?
Because when you're more likely to hear a Dylan song at a Brian Ferry show than a folk club, we have a problem, Houston.
When an aging Scottish rock band* knows more Joni Mitchell songs than most of the people applying for her job, it's time to talk.
Fifty years ago, folk was all covers, all the time. These days, when it comes to songs, it's more like all mine, all the time.
Why are singer-songwriters the least likely candidates to sing songs by somebody else?
Deeper into the Mystery
The first song we ever hear is a lullaby, and it's hard to imagine a more wonderful welcome to what must seem like a pretty weird world. It's the first of many folk songs we'll encounter when we're young. Some are simply silly and fun, while some are stories in code about historic events. Singing them at home and at recess teaches us about language and how to move our bodies and other useful things, including songs to sing to our own children one day.
The history of music is much more concerned with cover songs than it is with original compositions. Classical and spiritual music are based on them. In jazz, they call them standards, and it's assumed you'll either know them or be able to fake them convincingly. Dance music is often built on different producers remixing the same song into new versions.
Musicians in other genres across the vast folk/global/roots music continuum, from blues to bluegrass to ragas and reggae, do covers all the time.
It's less than a non-issue. It's a tradition, and one can’t help but notice that the more cover songs there are in the repertoire, the more a genre seems to value instrumental and vocal training.
There's Something Happening Here
It's 1961. In Greenwich Village, a kid calling himself Bob Dylan is having a hoot. He's hanging out, playing the guitar and listening to people like Dave van Ronk, Rambling Jack Elliott, Odetta and Mike Seeger playing covers. It's classic ‘folk’ – ballads, blues, rags and what-have-you that don't belong to anybody, but everybody seems to know.
Listening to Mike one night, Bob realizes he's never going to play the old songs as well as Mike already can. If he's going to get a musical life, he needs to do something different.
What if he wrote new songs that sounded like the old ones, and sang them himself?
Ba-da-bing! It works like stink. His singing voice puts some people off, and he's not the best guitar player in the Village, but more and more people are loving the new songs. The more places he plays, the more people want more. People like his songs so much they call him an artist, and maybe they are right.
As the veneration of Bob goes ballistic, new Dylans start turning up all over. All you have to do is buy a guitar, write a few songs and voila, you're an Artist.
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| The Bermuda Triangle of Contemporary Songwriting |
Welcome to the Great Folk Scare
of the Sixties.
Up until the Scare, there were fewer artists and a lot more entertainers on stage. The big difference between them is that entertainers start from a vested interest in the happiness of the audience and artists, generally, do not. Artists let you in on their perceptions of the world, and you can take it or leave it.
"The main thing is to live for that audience 'cause that's what you're there for... to please the people."
Louis Armstrong said that, and he was one of the most innovative, influential musicians of the 20th century. Most of the time he played covers and when asked what he did, he'd say he was an entertainer. Frank Sinatra used to call himself a 'saloon singer'.
As more musicians became Artists, it wasn't simply that no one sang sea shanties anymore or that Kumbaya was off the playlist. Under the old folk rules, the performer on a stage was there to reflect us back to ourselves. Now, the stage is about the Artist. We celebrate them.
A New Fusion of Old Traditions
The sound of the world has changed. In the world of folk-based global roots music, the gains have frankly been astounding.
Traditions that were once in danger of fading away are thriving again. There are more people making music, instruments and songs and more people listening to it now than ever before.
From a time when few people outside specific communities had heard women singing traditional Bulgarian songs, or experienced real zydeco music or heard a digeridoo live and direct, the music of the world is no longer so strange to our North American ears.
Our summers are brimming with festivals, almost all of them based on the model developed by folk-based festivals. No one knows how many new songs have been added to the world’s songbook over the last five decades. Some have disappeared without a trace. Some have become anthems of celebration for millions of people.
Meanwhile, the story of who "we" are and where our roots run back to has grown much more complex. Wherever you live in Canada, the demographics have changed dramatically over the last 50 years. There are songs that many of us have in common, though. Immersed in media as we are, songs come to us all the time through film, television and the net.
Witness for instance K’Naan’s song “Waving Flag,” a deeply personal story of his struggles for survival as a youth in Somalia.
Over the space of a couple of years, the song has been covered twice – first as a group aid effort with Young Artists for Haiti, and then as the 2010 World Cup anthem – and in the process has become the soundtrack to a space and time for a global community.
Or consider recent festival guests The Sparrow Quartet, where bluegrass fiddle-trained Abigail Washburn has built her music around covers of traditional Mandarin Chinese folk songs.
This is an exciting time, as our definitions of who we are as a folk – and the music that reflects that for us – are evolving every day.
This is an exciting time, as our definitions of who we are as a folk – and the music that reflects that for us – are evolving every day.
Will the Circle Be Unbroken?
Despite all of these interesting developments, though, the essence of the modern-day singer-songwriter’s identity still rests on the production and presentation of never-before-heard music. Singing their latest new songs consistently trumps the idea that there are as many creative possibilities in interpreting a song as there are in writing one.
It flies in the face of one of music's most amazing attributes – the way the same song will mean something different and very personal to everyone who hears it, including the one singing it at the time.
Even leaving aside the obvious potential for professional development or the performance possibilities, will anyone else ever sing any of these new songs?
Songs enter into the canon of a culture slowly, and only as they are actively shared over time. Our musicians bring them, and we sing them together. It used to be that a musician’s main job was to preserve our history for us; to remember our stories through song, and pass them down through the generations. They were known as griots, song carriers, minstrels and occupied a special place in people’s cultural lives. In many traditions, they still do.
The history of folk music is a history of cover tunes, and that living tradition has been reminding us that we are not alone for centuries. A familiar song doesn't just invoke memories. For a few minutes, it reminds us that whatever our differences might be, we are profoundly connected, to each other, and to our shared history.
In a world where people seem to feel more alienated and isolated all the time, it's a circle
that shouldn't be broken.
Dugg Simpson has been in love with festivals and all things folk for 30 years, including a dozen as the artistic director of the Vancouver Folk Music Festival. More deep thoughts about the good, the bad and the ugly of it all can be found at <http://www.thedugghouse.com/>
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